Mr Mouth
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: Not the child's board game, but an ode to the lips and mouth of one Dean Winchester. 1st Person POV. Straight fantasy. Woman could be you. T for language.


**A/N:** For my Twitter pal Lisa (reportergirl123) who posted a yummy pic of Jensen Ackles Friday afternoon that _really_ made me wanna be a plastic bottle. I teased about doing this, but I don't think she believed I would.

And for **stephaniew**, who knows I don't play around. Steph probably figured I _would_ do it...because it isn't the first time an image has gotten stuck in my head and refused to let me go. Sometimes I swear she knows me better than I know myself. Steph's an amazing friend, writer and beta. Check her out!

I've been under the weather, and I'm not entirely satisfied...but it's pure fantasy. Go easy on me. This the first thing I've written in a while. I hope to get back to updating other stories soon.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_.

Mr. Mouth

You know that board game? The one where the frog's head spins around and you have to shoot plastic flies into his mouth as it opens? Yeah. This isn't about that. Perhaps the comparison is poor taste, but what do you want from me? Those were the words that popped into my head when I saw it...

I'm sitting at the bar, minding my own business, when he sidles up next to me in his well worn jeans and beat up leather coat. He's the kind of man that turns the head of every girl in the place the second he walks in. Damn him and his panty dropping smirk.

I vaguely remember him ordering a drink. Whiskey. A double. But it's not the drink that's important. It's the way the tumbler rests on the pillow of his lower lip. It's the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows it.

Have you ever wanted to be alcohol? Because I sure as hell do. To be in that mouth? To sit on that tongue? Hello. If you're at all thinking no, you're the biggest liar around.

He sets the glass on the bar. The pink of his tongue curls around his lip, dragging it into his mouth. It's then I notice the freckle. Just off center.

I'm betting most women would notice the eyes. I can't lie. They're stunning. A brilliant shade of green. But that mouth. Good lord, that mouth...

"See something you like?" he asks, his eyebrow lifting as he raises the tumbler to his lips.

I feel my cheeks grow warm. "I...umm..."

The corner of his mouth quirks upward. He slips the pad of his thumb over his lip. Once. Twice. It's mesmerizing. He raises an eyebrow.

The mood I'm in tonight, it might as well have been a fucking dare. I slide off my stool and step next to his. Without thinking - hell, without _breathing _- I grab his jacket and pull his lips down to meet my own.

Why? Because I _had _ to taste him. I _had_ to know what it'd be like.

And I'm not sorry. The burning sting of the whiskey on his tongue is soothed by the velvety softness of his lips. The way _he _kisses _me_ back is as hot and hard as the wall of his chest beneath my hands as his arms wind around me. Kissing this nameless man was like reaching out and wrapping my fingers around the sweetest sin imaginable.

I pull back, slightly shocked at my behavior. I'm really not the kind of girl to kiss a stranger. I'm about to apologize when he slips his fingers into my hair and brings his mouth back to mine. It's hot and relentless. His tongue is demanding as his skims over my lower lip and flickers into my mouth. Whiskey. Sin. And the danger of losing my heart.

Backing away, but not releasing me, I feel his breath fanning over my cheeks. My eyes open and I fall into the deep, desirous green of his. Damn. I was a goner.

His eyebrow raises slightly, his voice is dark and deep when he speaks. In what could only be described as a hungry growl, he asks, "Wanna get outta here?"

Do I? Is the pope Catholic? I wet my lips and watch his eyes follow the sweep of my tongue. Grabbing my jacket, I tilt my head toward the door. "Where to?"

He smirks. Damn him. The way his lip curls - the flash of his teeth - make me want to do unmentionable things. "Does it matter?"

Did it? Not really. He could be a serial killer and I'd let him devour me. What a way to go out, having been kissed by that mouth...fondled by that tongue. Yeah. A goner.

Especially when his hand slips around mine. It's rough and calloused. It scratches against the softness of my own. It makes me wonder how it would feel on my body. Grazing the sensitive flesh of my nipple as it tightens. Brushing over my... Hello. Yep. I'm in trouble. Lots of trouble. "Nope. Not at all."

He leads me toward the door and I follow him willingly. I know it's wrong. Know I really should go home and crawl into bed alone. But when he smiles at me - when he leans and kisses me again - I know what's going to happen.

I'm about to find out all the things Mr. Mouth can do with those luscious lips.

And I know there won't be any regrets given the sneak preview.


End file.
